


Unexpected, Indeed

by ConvictorKaruma



Series: Bastarddome Drabbles (RP drabbles) [3]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 02:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvictorKaruma/pseuds/ConvictorKaruma
Summary: O5-10, call sign Janus never quite expected to make it this far. And certainly didn't know what they had agreed to.Yes, it's another Bastarddome fic. No, I will not be sorry. You can 1v1 me in the parking lot of Wendy's over it.





	Unexpected, Indeed

A fairer job would have given much more explanation about the position before asking “do you accept.” A fairer job would have given a final chance to back out. But this wasn’t a fair job, it wasn’t a fair world, it couldn’t be. Emery already knew that, though.

They knew that was the case before accepting, they were never misdirected about that, they were never directly told, either. The whole interview process had been unfair, though, and they were well aware that the way this place ran, in general, was unfair. Standard procedures never left room for a plea. They wanted to change that.

The standard procedure for an interview followed a loose script: A strange person Emery had never seen before, and Emery had been around long enough to have seen most people, came calling, something about something of extreme importance. “It might take a while,” they remembered being told. They assumed it was for another round of grilling over the whereabouts of Katja Sparks, because they caught wind of something matching her MO, or something. It was for a grilling, just not that one.

At first, they were asked pretty standard questions. Identity, why they thought they were being brought down, what they knew about various things, what they thought of various things, how their relationship with Sparks was at this point. Nothing to change their mind, but slowly, the questions got stranger. Asking about family, hobbies, extracurriculars. Things that wouldn’t help at all. This wasn’t about Sparks at all.

They hadn’t spoken up the entire time, only answering the questions, because if O5, they deduced this was O5 fairly quickly after eliminating other likely suspects, like the Insurgency, asks you a question? You answer it. Command wanted to get Emery rambling, which they did, to see if they would incriminate themself, let anything that would disqualify them slip. They didn’t. Round one, passed.

They were asked if they were interested in a promotion. They weren’t told what promotion. They said yes, maybe they'd be a site director and have some clout? Or at least assistant. Katja never had explained what that procedure was like.

The questions got even stranger, slightly dark, and still open-ended. Emery put up the mask of Dr. Jonaitis, after the initial fear-turned-confusion was ebbed away by the realization this was a _job interview_. If they were lucky, it would be the job they were gunning for. They started answering in more sure terms, more confidently, though still apprehensive. They didn’t want to slip up. They wanted to set right the wrongs. That was half of why they stayed.

They were asked about their fears, about their ideas of life and death, about their skills, about their place in the world, about what measures were acceptable and when, about their mental health. They were happy to answer, though they noticed not everyone in the shadows seemed thrilled with all of their answers. They made a mental note to work on those later. There was a small deliberation. Round two, passed.

They were asked if they were certain they wanted this job. They were told the job was not for everyone, that the job was difficult, and came with a lot of weight. They were told it would alter the course of their life. This was sounding a lot like it could be what they were gunning for, of course they were certain.

They were told it was an O5 position. That was far higher than they had ever dreamed. They could help from that level! They could push to change procedure; they could help. They could make a difference. They could matter to the world, even if it wouldn’t remember them at all.

Another battery of questions. Goals and ambitions, lengths they were willing to go to to achieve them, what were they proud of? How prepared to become someone else were they? They were asked about their organizational processes. About what they could offer. About what they enjoyed about their work. About how they felt about Gino Sparks’ termination. Not all of their answers were 100% honest, but none were lies, either. Someone seemed to notice, but say nothing. Another small discussion. Round three, passed.

They were beginning to wonder how much more information they needed to give, at this point. Two of the people in the shadows slipped away, but they didn’t ask. Must’ve been important. There were two more questions, as it turned out, what they wanted as a call sign, and…”space rock, or ocean floor?” That one made no sense to them. They thought about it, they wanted to end the unfair nature, and begin something new, and they had, for a while now, been playing two roles, they picked Janus, for the first one. They confusedly answered space rock to the second, and a tie was handed to them. _What?_ They didn’t ask. And they were given a time to come in to begin their orientation process.

They were then told they would replace the former O5-10. If things were fair, they would have been told what happened to that one. If only so that they could be prepared for it. Things were never fair there.

If the interview was hard, the orientation was gruelling. Emery, no, Ten didn’t mind too much, it would be worth it, it would have to be worth it. They weren’t great at change, and the discussions and instructions on how to speak with and handle their old friends were less than desirable. But they’d agreed to erasure of their identity, that included friends. The two people closest to them were never coming back, anyway. Quietly, they filed those memories away for safekeeping. Not to look at daily, just on occasion, when things got rough.

The actual job itself didn’t sound too terribly hard. It would be like writing up their lab reports, just in a more official format, and with more information. Someone else would handle the retractions, they were told. They were shown what the records should look like for each thing they should be recording, and had to produce samples of this from memory, no reference for format, no reference for information they were to record. They were assured this wouldn’t be how it actually went, it was just a formality.

They were taught everything that went into being an O5, they were taught to deflect, obfuscate, and confuse. They were taught how to talk to people, when it was necessary, and how to write formal orders and requests, as these were different from the lab proposals they had been used to.

There was an official thing, Ten had to be the one to enact the plans written up to erase their former self from public consciousness. They forced themself to do it without hesitation, despite a small, nagging reservation. They wondered if Katja would remember them, then again, she’d be pissed if she found out where they’d ended up, and they’d changed. Not too much, a little more confidence, a little more work, they still did all the things they used to, they still had joy, they still wanted to make it right. They just didn’t know that Katja would understand what they were trying to do, and didn’t know if she’d listen, she’d been so angry on the phone, and now Ten was working alongside the same people who made the call that had changed everything. Those thoughts were pushed from their mind immediately.

They stopped smiling almost immediately. They were happy, overjoyed to have the opportunity, but they thought they had to be serious. They had to be commanding. They had to look the part. It was just a mask, anyway.

And then, the alarm rang on their first official day. They’d bought a new wardrobe during orientation, they were given a good budget to do so, something they felt better fit their new position, but this would be the first time they really wore any of it after it’d been tailored. They weren’t really sure what else to do to get ready, they’d done their makeup, curled their hair, what were they missing? _Oh right! The tie!_ They still didn’t understand the purpose of it, and it was really garish and messy, clashing with the image they wanted, but they thought it would be polite to wear it, at least on their first day.

They were shown an office, and told to pick out furniture for it, the furniture would be delivered shortly. They were shown a bedroom, fairly sizable, for when work called for them to stay on-site, their harp had already been brought in. Damn, these people were thorough. Again, they were encouraged to decorate it as they saw fit.

Then, they were then lead to an entirely different office. _Hadn’t they already been shown theirs?_ This, it was explained, was the office of the person they’d be working with most closely. And, it turned out, where they’d be working for their first month. The man sitting at the desk, Twelve, they were told, turned and regarded them, expression impossible to read. “You’re our new recordkeeper?” Ten gave a nod, _confidence, Emery, be impressive, but don’t show off, you’ve got this_ , Twelve made a noise of acknowledgement, and gestured to a chair and laptop (how they had these in the 30s was the Foundation’s secret) that had been set up for them, they’d get their full computer after their trial period.

This man was calm, but something felt a little off. He was cold, and strict. Ten decided quickly that they weren’t going to challenge him, or ask any “stupid” questions. They would hide the stammering, terrified person they had been (and felt like, around Twelve), they would do their job, they would be efficient, and they would make small suggestions when able.

Ten came in on time, every day, and every day, the greeting was the same, eerily calm, but nothing notably wrong with it. Ten didn’t know the man was assessing if they were more tolerable than the old Ten. Thankfully for them, they were passing that test.

It took two weeks before Ten felt confident enough to say anything to Twelve. They were careful not to talk about anything other than business, they were delicate about addressing mistakes, _you don’t want to make an enemy here, Emery, they could throw you out any time_. They were always wearing a mask to do it, as they did addressing any of Command.

They made it through their first month, but that feeling of being disposable never fully went away. They slowly learned enough to feel confident making calls of their own, Twelve would always address the merits and issues with these, they balanced each other well. They were doing well, they were going to make a difference, they were going to do so many things. The meaningless loss of life would end, even if it took 100 years to get to that point, and they would see it through. They would do this. For the greater good. For the Foundation’s own good.


End file.
